For I see a young person in—well, I ain't much up in classical togs,
But she called it a "chlamys," I think. She'd a bow, and a couple of dogs,
"Rayther forward and sportive young party," thinks I, Sandown-Parky in style;
But pooty, and larky no doubt, so I tips her a wink and a smile.
"All right, Miss DIANNER," sez I. "You 'ave won 'em—the gloves—and no kid.
Wot size, Miss, and 'ow many buttons?" But she never lowered a lid,
And the red on her cheeks warn't no blush but a reglar indignant flare-up,
Whilst the look from her proud pair of lamps 'it as 'ard and as straight as a Krupp.
Brought me sharp to my bearings, I tell yer. "Young mortal," she sez, "it is plain